


will you and i ever feel brand new?

by librarby



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Touch-Starved, but also a little touch adverse...its complicated, jon sings! martin falls in love!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25999732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarby/pseuds/librarby
Summary: “We should do karaoke.” Martin says, his voice quiet even to his own ears. “Like, when this is all over. We can go to that shitty pub down the road from the Institute and sing.”Jon laughs and the shaking vibration from his body reaches all the way to Martin’s toes. “Okay, Martin. We’ll do that.”[title from factories by autoheart]
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 21
Kudos: 178





	will you and i ever feel brand new?

The first time he hears Jon sing, the running water of the shower nearly drowns out the sound and it doesn’t fully register in his mind until he’s right outside the door. 

Martin stops in his tracks, hand in the air where he had been preparing to knock and inform Jon he was back from his walk. He lets it hang there as he listens, focusing hard to parse out Jon’s voice over the spray.

It’s an old song that he thinks might be from the 50s, one that he distinctly remembers playing on the radio in his mother’s room a few times. The song is a little sad, something about missing the one you love. 

His hand drops back down to his side.

Much like his speaking voice, Jon’s singing is smooth and rich, sinking into Martin’s bones like vines growing up the side of a building. The bathroom of the safehouse actually has decent acoustics, the sound echoing just enough to sound intentional. The lyrics continue to tell the story of the singer’s missing lover, the one they let get away.

He stares at the wood grain of the door until the twisting pattern makes a familiar dread settle in his gut and he has to look away. An involuntary shiver runs down his spine.

Jon’s song is done now, and he’s just lightly humming some soft tune. Martin goes to knock and realizes his hands are shaking. He takes a deep breath and raps his knuckles against the door, calling out to Jon that he’s returned. 

Jon’s voice drifts out of the bathroom, welcoming him back. Martin stands there for a few more seconds. There is no more singing. 

(He pretends not to care. He does not bring this up when Jon comes into the bedroom, smiling softly at him as he pats at his wet hair with a blue towel.)

The next time is an accident as well, as Martin is walking down the tiny hallway back to the kitchen. He’s holding the tea mugs that were sitting on the bedside table from that morning, wanting to bring them to where Jon is already washing their dishes from dinner. 

He hears the radio before he hears Jon, whose voice is again somewhat muffled by running water (this time from the tap). 

The signal is staticky here, where even a phone call takes a walk into town for the payphone. Still, Martin can hear the faint swells of the music as Jon’s head moves from side to side. 

He feels a little guilty watching, like he’s intruding on some private moment. He’s never sung much, something even Martin does on occasion when a song pops into his head unannounced. 

But Jon has a nice voice and Martin can be invisible when he wants to be, so he stays. 

The song isn’t one he recognizes, but Jon seems to know the words by heart. It’s a little confusing to listen to as whatever sounds are coming out of the radio are definitely not English, but Jon is singing (and presumably translating) along with ease. 

He waits there, leaning against the doorframe until there’s a quiet lull in the music. Once he’s certain he won’t frighten Jon (something he’s done on more than one occasion—apparently his footsteps are muffled), he steps into the kitchen. 

Jon shivers once he’s fully in the room, glancing over his shoulder. Martin smiles apologetically. 

“Sorry, should have warned you I was coming.” He says, placing the mugs on the counter. Jon swiftly picks the white one up and starts rinsing out the inside. 

“It’s okay. Just wasn’t expecting it, is all.” 

While Martin would like to believe the lie that having Jon by his side has successfully chased away the Lonely’s fog, that simply wouldn’t be true. He still shivers in the middle of the night and occasionally can’t quite see his reflection in the mirror after coming back from one of Basira’s calls. It’s gotten better as they’ve settled into the safehouse, but his presence still brings an icy chill with it. 

Martin leans over and presses a kiss to Jon’s cheek. It still makes his stomach flip that he can do that now, after years of imagining what it would be like. 

(It’s hard, though, having contact with another person after being devoid of it for so long. Gentle brushes of fingers on his skin can feel like tiny pinpricks or like hot irons. He often has no idea which it will be until he’s either melting into the touch or choking back tears.

Jon lets him initiate most of the time, making sure to give him space to pull away if it gets too much.

It’s nice, having someone who actually _listens_ to him.)

“What?” Jon says, and he realizes that he’s been staring for much longer than he meant to. The corner of Jon’s mouth is quirked up with gentle amusement and Martin wants to kiss him again. 

“Sorry.” He says instead, picking up the first mug and drying it off with a hand towel. The radio makes an odd noise then goes back to playing music in that same language as before. 

Jon rinses out the second mug, shaking his head a little. “Damn thing. Why Daisy has a radio here when the signal is this terrible is beyond me.”

Martin plucks the mug from his hands when he’s finished, drying it as well. “What language is this anyway?” 

To his surprise, Jon just shrugs. “No idea. It’s the only one I can pick up on.” 

“But you—okay.” Martin sighs, putting the mugs away in their designated cupboard. 

Sometimes it’s better not to ask.

Martin knows he’s drunk too much wine, but the warm feeling in his stomach is comforting and he can’t find it within himself to really care. The look Jon is giving him is fond, though all the looks Jon gives him nowadays could be described as such.

They’re on the couch, with their shoulders pressed together and a ratty quilt over their knees. Martin’s phone is playing some soft playlist he’d created forever ago, back when he had trouble falling asleep in the Archives and would put on music to drown out the eerie quiet. 

A familiar tune fades in, and Martin finds himself swaying gently to the beat. Jon raises his eyebrows, that little smile on his face growing bigger. 

“God, I used to listen to this song all the time in Research.” Martin says, tilting his head back and staring up at the ceiling. The dull overhead light flickers. 

“I recognize it.” Jon says, and even he sounds surprised by this revelation. “I believe I sang it in choir once.” 

Martin shifts his gaze back to Jon. “You were in choir?”

He nods. “It was my grandmother’s way of getting me out of the house.” He laughs a little, shaking his head. “I hated it.” 

“Really?” He asks. Every bit of new information he learns about Jon feels like a shot of warmth through his veins (though at this point, that could just be the alcohol). 

“I liked singing well enough, but the whole...structure of the choir wasn’t for me. I hated that they told me what songs I could sing and when I had to sing them and what register I could be in.” Jon says, frowning. 

Martin snorts. “Imagine that. Jonathan Sims hating being told what to do.” 

This earns him a little shove, then Jon holds out his hand. Martin takes it, intertwining their fingers. All their points of contact make his body scream for more and for less at the same time. He takes a deep breath, trying to ride out the sensation. 

“She finally let me quit when I was in Year 4. I remember being so happy to just be left alone to read.” He takes a drink from his own wine glass then sets it back down. “I think the last time I sang in front of a crowd was the time Georgie forced me to do a karaoke duet with her in uni.” 

Martin drops his head down to rest on top of Jon’s, suddenly overcome with tiredness. “We should do karaoke.” He says, his voice quiet even to his own ears. “Like, when this is all over. We can go to that shitty pub down the road from the Institute and sing.” 

It’s easy to imagine, the two of them standing under the dim fluorescent of the pub, the oddly sticky surface of the stage under their shoes. Jon would smile at him and he’d forget about everyone in the crowd. He’d get to hear that wonderful voice again, this time through a microphone with all it’s crisp, clear quality. They’d be smiling, laughing, having fun. A proper date, not one running from a murder charge or an eldritch monster or any of the other awful things that were simply part of their lives now. 

Just them and the music. 

Jon laughs and the shaking vibration from his body reaches all the way to Martin’s toes. “Okay, Martin. We’ll do that.” He says softly.

Martin smiles and closes his eyes. 

It’s not uncommon for Martin to lie in the safehouse’s singular bed, reading a book that he found down at the village shops, and to suddenly have a scrawny Archivist curling up next to him. 

“You’re like a cat.” He says as Jon receives the ‘okay’ nod and proceeds to wrap his lanky body entirely around Martin’s. 

Jon mutters something in response, pushing his face against Martin’s jumper. He puts the book down and runs a hand through Jon’s hair. It’s long now, longer than it ever was back in the Archives. It’s soft against Martin’s fingers. 

They lay like that for a while, with Martin focusing hard on the warmth pressed up against him. It’s grounding, reminding him where he is and what he’s doing and, most importantly, who he is with. 

(The temperature in the room rises a single degree. If Jon Knows this, he does not share.)

After a while, Jon lifts his head up. His dark eyes feel like a thousand gazes all at once, something that is still somewhat jarring, like a searchlight tearing through fog, but is quickly becoming comforting. 

“Russian.” Jon says, accompanied by a faint squeaky static. Martin is so caught off guard that he just blinks in response. 

“What?”

“That song.” Jon says, as though it’s obvious. “The song in the kitchen was in Russian.”

“Oh.” He rubs a little circle into Jon’s back. “I didn’t know you knew Russian.”

“I don’t.” 

Martin opens his mouth to ask how that makes a semblance of sense, then thinks better of it and instead pulls Jon down for a kiss. It’s soft and only lasts a few seconds, but it shoots warmth down into Martin’s fingertips. 

Jon shivers a bit when he moves away, though if it’s from the kiss or Martin himself he’s not sure. “I love you.” 

Martin’s hand is warm when he brings it up to cup Jon’s face. “I love you too.” 

That night, Jon sings quietly into the darkness of their bedroom as Martin drifts off into dreams instead of the fog. 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments help keep me protected in the safehouse with the One I Love (my girlfriend,,,) so please leave them if you enjoyed!  
> find me on tumblr @ jonbinary >:)


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